The Tree In The Field Poem by Soren Valentine

Perhaps it was a dream,
that ripped Reality's seam,
on that day I saw the tree,
alone in a green sea.

Years washed over it,
the world its roots bit,
yet still that tree lives,
till to it my life I give.

We would watch my old friend,
under a black sky with no end,
where the stars would smile bright,
and life didn't seem so trite.

But everyone dies I guess,
and I am something less
than the sylvan Keeper
of memories of a world gone deeper.

As the glory of the stars arises,
no longer will there be surprises,
for my tomb has been set,
under the Tree With No Regret.

Where the waves once foamed,
and the horses once roamed,
there is only ashes,
unmarred by Sadness' slashes.

Perhaps its only a dream,
to be buried by the stream
of roots filled with knowledge
of when Death falls off the edge.